Insomniac

Here

Well I feel like a dick. I totally forgot that I did not write anything. I think I was too caught up in a Sanders sides book that I didn't notice. I was also in church. So, I tried to whip something up, like a one shot or something. Here, I will try to battle my procrastination and finally to stuff. Here's the one shot that I had written like months ago: (oh and It's dedicated to someone)

moonfeatheranime12

As you scampered into class you realized you forgot your glasses. Or contacts. Or your eyeballs. Whatever. So, obviously you couldn't see well. "Ah sh** snacks," you whispered. You realized it was censored. You shrugged, and thought it was because of the people reading this book who don't curse.

Anyway, you snap out of your trance and slide over to your desk. Soon the teacher gayed into the classroom. You read that right. Gayed. Cause let's say your teacher was gay. So they started to hand out worksheets. They were crosswords.

"Pfft," you took the stack of papers off of everyone's desk and the teacher's hands and shot them into the trash can. Suddenly everything and everybody dissolved into the floor. Why? I cannot answer that question, for I don't know the answer to it either.

Here's another one that's equally as crappy:

The girl dabbed the 'paint' on the empty canvas. She moved her paintbrush across it skillfully, the picture still vivid in her mind. If you went farther in her mind, you could hear the echo of another girl screaming for she was being skinned alive with a puny little knife for her blood. But, that is just a memory now. It's too bad that it was her sister who was being skinned alive.

A smile played on the girl's lips as she admired her masterpiece. It was a picture of her now dead sister. But, where did she get the paint from? It was obvious it was blood, because you can't spell paint without pain.